[sticky entry] Sticky: [ooc: Crit Post]

Dec. 21st, 2020 11:57 pm
masked_god: (Default)
Character: Hokh'Ton Karakael z Karakit ne Karun
Series/Source Material: The Inquest
Gender: Male
Age: Complicated. (Estimated at about 10,000 years)

All questions, complaints or suggestions go here! Any help you can give me to play this character correctly is greatly appreciated!

General Info: Karakael is a former Inquestor from a series of books by the same name. Important qualities of note would be his rather horrific backstory (which he prefers not to speak about), his history as a 'bad guy', and his current occupation as a chronicler for the thinkhive of Uran S'Varek. He tends to wear masks in public, as a result of the burn and graft scars on his face.

More information can be found here and here.
masked_god: (Default)
The Basics
Canon: The Chronicles of the High Inquest
Character Name: Hokh’Ton Karakael z Karakit Karun
Character Journal: [personal profile] masked_god
Player Name: Kaaree
Best contact method: [plurk.com profile] karakael

Character Details )
masked_god: (mask - unimpressed)
Might I ask, human, why I was brought back for this farce? The hovering sun asks the burned man. Already half his face is developing sun-burn, while the other half appears to be frost-bitten.

The answer is obvious. My powers fade in the face of otherworldly madness. The black hole responds. Thus, you may return.

The way of light is not madness...

It is chaos! Madness and Destruction...

And your way is better? The way of Stagnation and Despair?

Order will always triumph! That is the way of this universe! To fight against despair is the true madness...

Then it is a madness worth perpetuating! For is not heroism grown from the struggle against stagnation? The Light must fight, even if it will always be defeated.

Pain and suffering come from fighting when there is no need to. Chaos does more harm than good. Stagnation is the way of pleasure.

Stagnation is slavery. Closed minds and empty souls. Order will invariably lose belief in the face of true wonder...

And the two ideals continue to bicker. Meanwhile their subject looks incredibly bored.

"Its as if I've been trapped in Seminary all over again...I hope they shut up soon."
masked_god: (blue mask - oh)
Player nickname: Karakael
Player DW:
Way to contact you:
Email: missing.momeg@gmail.com
AIM: thinkhive
Plurk: [plurk.com profile] karakael
Other: N/A
Are you at least 15?: Yes!
Current Characters: Ton Elloran, Marianne Zahmani

Character: Karakael (full name with title: Hokh’Ton Karakael z Karakit Karun)
Fandom: The Inquest


The Inquest
The Inquest was a galactic empire spanning some 20,000 years. It was begun when the central world of the Milky Way galaxy was discovered by a woman named Vara at the beginning of the galactic space age. This central world, Uran S’Varek, not only surrounded the super-massive black hole at the galaxy’s core, but also housed computers from the alien societies that came before. The knowledge contained in these “thinkhives” allowed those few with access to them vast amounts of power and resources, which in turn gave them the power to create a galactic empire where before human worlds had been largely isolated and galactic travel had been reserved for the few courageous enough to chance travel through the Tacheon Universe.

With the power of the thinkhives of Uran S’Varek, Vara was able to create an empire that stretched across the entire galaxy. Energy pulled from suns falling into the central black-hole allowed for “Tacheon Bubbles” to pierce the Tacheon dimension and avoid the ravages of time-dispersal. Similarly, the invention of “soma”; a drug that extended human life indefinitely; allowed for a ruling class of “Inquestors” to be created to care for the growing empire.

These Inquestors were given one primary task by Vara: to search the galaxy, looking for a Utopia which all further human society could be based upon. Their power and rule were contingent upon this one ideal – that somewhere out in the galaxy, there was a world where human suffering and pain had been eradicated and humans were able to harness their full potential. In the meantime, they were to destroy False Utopias and battle any who would oppose the Inquest.

A high ideal, but 20,000 years later The Inquest had become the very thing it struggled to overcome. A galactic bureaucracy, connecting over a billion human planets and controlling a majority of all space in the galaxy, The Inquest had become “too big to fail”. Long lived Inquestors isolated themselves from the worlds they were given to rule, bartering them away in games of Makrugh and losing any hint of the High Compassion that was the one quality an Inquestor was chosen for.

False Utopias were worlds that claimed Utopia status from the fact that they had solved every human problem and stagnated thereafter. The Inquest had become just like the Utopia’s it hunted – monolithic, destructive, and stagnant. Under the reign of Inquestors worlds fell and were born again, but there was no true advancement.


Into this world Karakael was born. A child of a pleasure world, he dreamed of becoming an Inquestor. Never mind that only once child out of a billion would ever be chosen to undergo the training, never mind that under the dirt and grime of the slum he was born from no one would notice the keen mind and wide eyes. He believed and dreamed, and refused again and again to lower himself to the jobs that were more of his station; prostitution and begging, despite his parents pleas.

Eventually, his parents took matters into their own hands and attempted to kill him. After all, a dead boy with a beautiful body could be sold to the nearest corpse brothel without problem, but a live boy with a stubborn personality was useless, no matter how attractive. Unfortunately, they failed to complete the job, and by the time Karakael escaped the brothel he had been beaten, raped, and traumatized. Wracked with shame and self-loathing, he pulled on a canvas mask, only for it to meld with his face, leaving a permanent visible reminder of his trauma. His parents could not recognize him but he was discovered, naked and crying, by Vara herself. She dried his tears, made him an Inquestor on the spot, and told him he could never cry again. The horror he had been through, in her mind, allowed him to understand the same hardships and horrors that millions faced in the Inquest every day. That Compassion for those in similar circumstance would be the basis for his power as an Inquestor.

Except that shipping off a traumatized child to a world where his history could be ruthlessly used to control him should anyone find out and then informing him that emotions were weakness and should be repressed at all cost does not make a particularly stable or kind individual. Karakael grew into a cruel tyrant, viewing the worlds he controlled and the billions of lives at his disposal as nothing more than game pieces. It was so much easier to give into arrogance and bluster, than to examine himself and find the same monster that created his home world and then let it fester into a den of sin and hardship.

Karakael was a masterful Inquestor, his cavalier attitudes to his subjects a great boon to any Inquestor wishing to move up the ranks. In a mere five hundred years he gained the title of Grand Inquisitor, one of the three Inquestors who ruled over the Inquest itself. Alongside him in his rise to power was his friend Ton Elloran, an Inquestor known for his truly compassionate nature, and his lover and controller of the galactic armament The Queen of Daggers Ynoldeh.

Of course all three had their quirks. Ynoldeh was allergic to the immortality drugs, and so her true body aged into that of a wizened old woman. She linked her consciousness with that of servo-corpses and sent them out into the world to do her bidding rather than letting anyone else see the pain she was suffering. Elloran was in love with his musician, Sen Sajit, and was forced to watch as the non-Inquestor aged and eventually died, all the while insisting that Elloran would eventually move on and forget him. And Karakael never removed his masks. He held his scars secret for over five hundred years, and for it earned the title Man of a Million Masks and the Master of Illusion.

Only to have his history and shame revealed for the whole of the Inquest by none other than Vara herself, a woman he thought long dead, only to return begging to end the Inquest, with his trauma as the keynote of her speech. And then she assumed that he would thank her for ‘freeing him’ of the lies he had kept up.

Instead he became everything that he hated about the Inquest. The monster who would destroy a million worlds to rout out the rebels. The man who would let 10,000 children die, or starve entire peoples, or destroy the one true Utopia the universe had to offer. Everything the galaxy hated and feared from the Inquest, he became. And in doing so, he gave the revolution something to fight against; a rallying point that proved how corrupt and monstrous the Inquest really was. In his own way, he helped push the galaxy into rebellion.

And then he was stripped of his title by his apprentice and banished. Freed from being the needed monster he returned to Uran S’Varek, assisting the Inquestrix Sirriss in her quest to find a third path through the conflict, one that would not leave one of the two warring factions in charge. Though he took a vow of silence to repent from his former actions, he still became one of the key players in the final conflict, as his and Elloran’s words motivated the last Inquestors to give up their titles and lives to give the universe freedom from the corruption they had become.

In self-immolating, Karakael freed himself of the horrors of his past and freed the universe of the evil that festered inside the heart of every Inquestor. What no vow of silence could ever forgive, a sacrifice of such magnitude could. He ended his life free for the first time.


Which made it all rather difficult when, 300 years later, he woke up to Vara-merged-with-the-planet asking him to reconsider his death and get to work cleaning the memory of the Inquest from the galaxy. Despite great frustration with his ending being stolen from him, Karakael has since become the Last Inquestor in a very real sense. The galaxy has moved on from the Inquest, falling into a dark age due to the lack of faster-than-light travel. Yet still there are hold outs from the time before the fall. Inquestors who escaped the mass-immolation, bands of rouge child-soldiers, miss-behaving planetary thinkhives and references scattered throughout the billion planets to the society that came before.

Erasing this evidence has become Karakael’s main task. To help him in his work he was allowed to adopt several child-soldiers who had been eternally trapped as children. Vara occasionally helps as well, but she has mostly been consumed by the planetary thinkhives of Uran S’Varek. Most of her help now comes in assisting Kaaree with understanding how to travel through the galaxy without harming the Tacheon Universe or being driven mad by the Overcosm (two dimensions that are described as the galaxy’s memories and dreams respectively.) Almost everything else has been left to his discretion. Occasionally he’ll get nostalgic and topple a corrupt Utopia, but mostly he acts as an observer an a reverse anthropologist, sprinkling doubts about the existence of the Inquest throughout worlds and recording the post-Inquest changes.


Karakael is very, very old. Current estimates place him at about 1,000 personal years. He has seen quite a lot of his galaxy, traveled through thousands of radically different worlds, and seen the Inquest at both its height and end. As a result, very little can truly surprise him and much more leaves him unimpressed.

Unlike many other Inquestors, he recognizes that his galaxy is far different from the other worlds connecting to the community. He knows when to keep his mouth shut and not mention his own worlds interpretation on something, but he also highly enjoys disturbing community members with mentions of servo-corpse or cities built inside sea-serpents.

At heart, he is a sarcastic soul, twisted by his life but considerably mellowed out by time and the ‘normal’ experiences of his post-Inquest life. He is often still arrogant or patronizing, but over time genuine kindness has emerged. He enjoys being around children and mentoring young women (who often remind him of his not-daughter Sirriss). He likes chaotic characters that bring spice to his life and do unexpected things outside the norm of obvious human behavior. He can have pleasant conversations with most community members, but is more likely to bond with people who surprise him.

Having been a former DDD member, he has seen many characters come and go, and has become used to it. Over time he has come to accept it and tried to isolate himself from becoming too attached to any one person, though inevitably this fails.

Karakael is difficult to anger but easy to bore. At heart he’s a loner hidden behind the façade of a flamboyant entertainer. Since joining DDD the former has won out over the latter, though he is still likely to appear at parties in crazy outfits and conjure illusions from thin air.

His past has been revealed obliquely several times but he tries not to bother others with it. Not because he has any desire to repress it anymore, but because he understands that it would disturb and frighten people. When talking about his galaxy he focuses upon what other worlds might consider bizarre, rather than what they would find horrifying or disturbing…unless he is intentionally trying to disturb, in which case he has a menagerie to choose from.

If there is one thing that continues to frustrate him, no matter how resigned to the human condition he becomes, it is willful hypocrisy. Of course he is as guilty of it as the next man, but after his history was revealed he tried to be at least honest with himself. He might have been destroying worlds, but it wasn’t for some higher goal beyond pure revenge and self-hatred. He respects people who can recognize similar faults about themselves and can work around them, but has very little patience for those who judge others harsher than themselves or rule their worlds based on logical fallacies.

Other: Because of his training and the unique way Faster-Than-Light travel works within the Inquest, Karakael is capable of worldhopping. It is a skill he rarely uses, given the various dangers of the Over and Undercosms, but he can transport large groups or manipulate time to a certain extent.

Additional Links: N/A

First Person:

Ah, community. It has been a while, has it not? Almost a full year of your time (and six of mine) since you last interrupted my work and forced me into an idiotic outfit.

At least this one doesn’t involve painting all of my wigs pink. There are easier ways of getting my attention. Though I must admit, the Earthling clothing is new.

The com has placed me in what – I believe – is called a suit. At least it hangs well, though the fabric…tch. Mid 20th century, I would assume. Before the invention of genetically engineered spiderworms. How can you primitives stand wearing clothing this confining? I understand that it emphasizes the slim build and wide shoulders, but one can do that just as easily with a good kilt and a cloak. Or by simply going naked, like any civilized society would choose. And this tie. Jewelry specifically designed to constrict over time.

Remind me to burn it when the community lets me go. The suit I could get used to (though the buttons will have to go) but the tie will burn. Really. Why have a rope when you can do so much more with real craftsmanship?

- Kaaree

Third Person:

Hokh’Ton Karakael z Karakit Karun, former High Inquestor, god of monsters and corruption, and all around terrifying individual, was not the sort of man one would expect to do gardening. Yet there he was, dark leggings stained with blue mud, his greying natural hair tied up with twine and his hands deep in the dirt of an under-loved meadow.

The green sky placed him firmly on his home of Uran S’Varek, but the lush chaos of the garden was completely unlike the desert that he normally called his home. Crystal spires dotted the distance, there was the shadow of birds (at least they seemed like birds, this far away) but surrounding him was silence.

Odd though it was, this was one of the many tasks Kaaree relished about his job. Normally he did things more in line with his talents. Observing human worlds, dissecting their rules and destroying their histories…that was what he was good at. Give him the feted stink of humanity any day. He could wade through the mire and pick out the gems and the methane and write it all up as another story for his uncaring master. Humanity was easy. All the little quirks and habits and secret shames people kept inside…how one could manipulate and maneuver and – with a touch of illusion or fear – get them to do what every you wanted…that was his gift.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t get old. A thousand years of the same dozen motivations, played out on the scale of worlds or in the tiny hovels of the least interesting peasants…sometimes it was good to get away from it all. To not look at people and feel the thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams all whirling around, every individual another microcosm creating whole galaxies which each spoken word or hastily hidden smile. It was exhausting, even amidst the constant patterns.

But Karakael was bloody horrid at gardening. Living things withered under his touch more often than not. Sentient trees oozed away from his hands. Pools became pits of algae and muck. Forget the intricate bonsai-ing, fantastical topiary or the patient breeding of blue roses; Karakael struggled to simply get his geraniums to live through the season.

Which made his actions now deliberate and controlled as he carefully transferred a flower from a bin at his side into the ground. With an odd clumsiness he pressed the dirt in around the plant, which looked like a kind of red dandelion. It wilted a little at his touch but perked up again when he backed away to look at his handiwork. He smiled with satisfaction and rubbed the dirt off his hands onto his leggings.

“There. I shouldn’t be able to kill you.”
masked_god: (Default)
Who: Karakael & Kefka
What: Karakael shows Kefka around his crazy homeworld
When: Shortly after the not!halloween party
Where: Uran S'Varek, and whatever other planets Kefka wants to visit.
Warnings: Probably talking about the past and some slight triggers?

A world with green skys and no horizons... )
masked_god: (drawn - ponder)
Excerpts from Notes, date [untranslated]
Karakael, Uran S'Varek, Eldoran Karass (Edge City)

They...they are recolonizing Karun. It has lain barren for centuries, eons in fact. Yet now...now a small, sweet little society is growing as if nothing important happened there.

It is foolish of me to be so shocked at this. Its been over a millennia, there is no sign that the world was ever inhabited, much less that that it held a society with teeming billions. If this young people wish to find a home there, there is no reason for them not to. There is no reason for me to hold such a grudge against the place, to wish for it to remain barren for eternity. Yet...I had always expected it to do exactly that.

The irony, I suppose, is that I am one of the main deities of the people who are settling on my former homeworld. Of course, they are unaware of it - my name has been simplified to "The Masked Corruption" and my origin is suitably god-like. (The most recent version I heard involved my being one of the Million demons created when the Planet-God Chaos forced himself upon The First Mother. Pleasant.) I wonder if they would have chosen to live on Karun had they known it was once my domain? Perhaps they would simply sacrifice more children and think themselves brave for going against one of their Gods wishes.

Tch. I am growing to old and cynical for this. If they desire my home, let them have it. I hope they have more luck on it than I.
masked_god: (Default)
❶ Reply here with a pairing/one of my characters and a bunch of people
❷ Pick a theme set from the [livejournal.com profile] 1sentence writing challenge meme
❸ I write 50 sentences (feel free to specify a rating!)

My characters are:

[livejournal.com profile] hok_ton Karakael
[livejournal.com profile] darkling_wind The Visitor
[livejournal.com profile] ton_elloran Elloran
[livejournal.com profile] poison_puppet Himiko

And an example of an already completed prompt is here: Visitor/Karakael
masked_god: (Default)
Well, that was interesting. Spending a week as a male courtesan-in-training on some colony world was not how I intended to spend this vacation. I wonder, does the community enjoy reminding me of that bit of my past? This was certainly more enjoyable than the last community-prompted horrormemory, yet I would prefer a few months of peace.


Jan. 16th, 2010 01:02 am
masked_god: (drawn - hide your face)
Former Hokh'Ton Karakael z Karakit Karun was no stranger to waking up in strange and sometime fantastical places. Waking up with a pounding headache, however, was quite unusual.

"Damn!" He swore, coughing more of the fog out of his lungs. It stung his eyes as it made its way out of the mask that had been attached to his face while he slept. Hesitantly he ran his fingers over the second face, already dreading what he knew he would find. A gold mask, one with blue tears streaming down the face.

He had found himself in the past yet again. A glance confirmed a familiar setting; his ancient home, turned translucent and ethereal. It was based more on memories than fact, a construction that the former Inquestor psyche and 'repressed' memories. A community member had once forced him to come here to 'face his worst fear' and since then he had relived the journey countless times in his nightmares. It was not a pleasant memory.

"Shall we repeat this process yet again?" He asked the world at large. He stood slowly, dusting off his hands and dodging a running child-ghost with practiced ease.
masked_god: (drawn - glare out)
Karakael stood on the edge of the Void, staring into a private vision of the future. Wisps of color escaped, momentarily dancing on the edge of darkness before dissipating back into the Overcosm. The masked Inquestor paused a few moments longer, attempting to understand the riots of hue that represented his galaxies dreams of the future, before finally turning back to his waiting audience.

"Something is coming." He said to the waiting childsoldier. "Return the children back to stasis. There is something wrong with the Overcosm."

Tash nodded once, then stepped back on to a displacement plate, transporting him instantly back to the palace. Karakael walked the remaining distance, brooding over the strange currents the future had gained. He barely noticed as yellow fumes began to rise around him. Only when it began to cloud his eyes did he look up, surprised at the change in an environment that normally bowed only to his whims.

"Fog?" The first breath of fumes sent him coughing into the arm of his shimmercloak. It was twitching in agitation, shrinking back from the noxious yellow substance, drawing closer to its master in fear.

Karakael stumbled onto a displacement plate, shocked that the change had come about so suddenly. But this time he was alert, and caught the first hint of the tug. Something - or someone - was pulling him back into the past.

He whispered, more to himself than his frightened pet - "This cannot be good."
masked_god: (Default)
((ooc: Posting this now, with the knowledge that the scenes referenced will be elaborated upon later.))

A young man walks by, humming under his breath, his head buried in the sheaf of music clutched in his hand. Yet the memories, when the come, are not of that man a thousand years dead, images blurred by time an guilt, but rather the clear, pristine lies the community has spun for its game. Fifteen years of memories wrapped up in a single, true name: Elloran.

He, the watcher, will feel guilt later, when he revisits these addicting lies. He can wish his relationship with the younger man could have been so simple - even as the lies blur with reality and he mentally chronicles his true journey from mentor to friend. Would that his life were so simple, composed of Latin and History and a scholarly passion for tragedy. Would that the boy-turned-man before him remain forever locked in that moment of concentration, not yet realizing that he lived a lie. Let his innocence last.

How many dreams had been indirectly filled by this seemingly simple virus? Home, family, career - easy enough to achieve in such an 'alternate universe' yet nigh impossible in the twisted reality they called home. And what of harder wishes? Love, certanty, purpose...and harder still, that innocent simplicity that steals away the depth and distrust their respective pasts force upon them. To live so close to 'happy', with friends and family, lovers and ironically perfect careers, and for once to have a beautifully certain purpose...how cruel it is, then, when the musician glances up and catches the Latin teachers eye and - in an instant - the virus is broken.

Time tears them apart, leaving behind only expressions and memories - expressions that will be branded in memories for years to come. From one there is confusion as a friend transforms into a scarred monster, impossibly alien, ancient and weathered, yet impossibly familiar. From the other the overwhelming pain of realization and acceptance of the pain that he is just beginning to realize. The expressions fade with the disappearing faces, leaving only the memories. <i>Memory</i> )
masked_god: (Default)
ooc: There are three scenes I've used from the book The Throne of Madness to make Karakael and Ellorans most recent video post. I cannot do the scenes justice - not by a long shot! So, in reference, here they are in full, as the original author wrote them.

The breaking of joy is the beginning of wisdom. )
masked_god: (mask - cry)



He has been dead for five thousand years. I saw him die. It was one of - it was my last memory of the Inquest. He died so that humanity might live...

When I spoke to him a month ago it was a fluke, a blip in the space-time continuum. It is not possible that he could be here. Now. Speaking to me across time and space on this infernal device.

He died in flame at my suggestion and now the child that will be him is here.

And now I must play the part I abandoned so long ago. Gods damn us all.
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